Happy Birthday, Dorothy!

This week my aunt Dorothy would have turned 59.

When Dorothy was born with Down's Syndrome Grandma thought,
"I'll never be happy again." 

After admitting that to us at age 90, she next said,
"Was I ever wrong!"

As her name signifies, Dorothy was truly a "gift from God." 

She was a joy to the whole family and had friends everywhere.

Dorothy LOVED birthdays! 

 

It didn't even have to be her own to be exciting.

Little Me waiting for cake with Dorothy

Even in her older, more solemn years, Dorothy sparked up whenever we sang "Happy Birthday" and patiently waited by her cake until family gathered to celebrate.

If you will pardon the low quality "photos of photos," here are some more special peeks into her life.

Dorothy and her dad

Dorothy at the school blackboard. She loved to draw circles.

Mrs. M. was a wonderful, caring teacher to this group of children.

Dorothy even got to be Mary in the Christmas play at her public school.

Before enjoying my piano, Dorothy was enthralled with her brother's playing.
Gretel, the dachshund, was a special gift.

Dorothy and my Dad

For more recent photos, see this post.

George MacDonald

Photo from Wikipedia

One of my favorite authors is Scottish-born George MacDonald. (1824-1905)

His works range from fairytales like The Light Princess that deepen my sense of awe and gratitude for Christ's gift of salvation, to the deep spiritual insights presented in fresh ways in his children's books including The Princess and the Goblin and At the Back of the North Wind, to the examples of living out a growing faith through obedience shown in his novels such as What's Mine's Mine*, Sir Gibbie, and The Marquis of Lossie.

But lest you should go out, pick up some of his books, and lose any confidence in my opinion, I should qualify my recommendation. I do not agree with several points of his theology or social ideas rooted in the class system of 19th century England. In addition the Gothic fiction influence in several of his novels is often repulsive to me, and he can be too wordy.

Nevertheless, George MacDonald has positively influenced my faith more than probably any other writer of fiction. As C.S. Lewis said of MacDonald, "I have never concealed the fact that I regarded him as my master; indeed I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him."

Another quote I have heard attributed to C.S. Lewis says: 

"Good fiction is a ship carrying a cargo of truth."

Along the same lines (from Mildred Keith by Martha Finley):

"'I love the Bible,' said Effie, 'I never could do without it; its words often come to me when I am sad and suffering and are "sweeter than honey and the honeycomb," but reading other good books seems like talking with a Christian friend, and refreshes me in the same way.'"

That is why I keep coming back to MacDonald's works and listening to yet another 17 hour audio-book on LibriVox. The most recent was certainly not an overall favorite, but it still contained several gems that blessed me.

"The next day was very lovely. I think it is the last of the kind of which I shall have occasion to write in my narrative of the Seaboard Parish. I wonder if my readers are tired of so much about the common things of Nature. I reason about it something in this way: We are so easily affected by the smallest things that are of the unpleasant kind, that we ought to train ourselves to the influence of those that are of an opposite nature. The unpleasant ones are like the thorns which make themselves felt as we scramble - for we often do scramble in a very undignified manner - through the thickets of life; and, feeling the thorns, we grumble, and are blind to all but the thorns. 

The flowers, and the lovely leaves, and the red berries, and the clusters of filberts, and the birds'-nests do not force themselves upon our attention as the thorns do, and the thorns make us forget to look for them. But a scratch would be forgotten - and that in mental hurts is often equivalent to a cure, for a forgotten scratch on the mind or heart will never fester - if we but allowed our being a moment's repose upon any of the quiet, waiting, unobtrusive beauties that lie around the half-trodden way, offering their gentle healing.

And when I think how, not unfrequently, otherwise noble characters are anything but admirable when under the influence of trifling irritations, the very paltriness of which seems what the mind, which would at once rouse itself to a noble endurance of any mighty evil, is unable to endure, I would gladly help so with sweet antidotes to defeat the fly in the ointment of the apothecary that the whole pot shall send forth a pure savour.

We ought for this to cultivate the friendships of little things. Beauty is one of the surest antidotes to vexation. Often when life looked dreary about me, from some real or fancied injustice or indignity, has a thought of truth been flashed into my mind from a flower, a shape of frost, or even a lingering shadow - not to mention such glories as angel-winged clouds, rainbows, stars, and sunrises. Therefore I hope that in my loving delay over such aspects of Nature as impressed themselves upon me in this most memorable part of my history I shall not prove wearisome to my reader, for therin I should utterly contravene my hope and intent in the recording of them."

* I just finished the nearly two year project of recording What's Mine's Mine for LibriVox. Look for a later post when it has been proofed and catalogued.

NOTE: To attempt more of an answer to the questions this post has raised, see my later post  A George MacDonald Caveat

For All in Pain

- Amy Carmichael

Why So Sad?

           

Each year I try to build a snowman.

This began well before my namesake, Anna, 

in Disney's Frozen sang to her sister Elsa, 

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

(Yes, we have fun with those characters 

being named "after" us.)

I never know how it will turn out when I begin. 

Last year's turned into Snoopy. (More pictures here)

This year's snowman surprised me, and it still surprises anyone who drives in our yard.

As I stood looking at the sticky snow while just out for a little fresh air one evening, I saw the fences around the rose bushes holding in their blanket of leaves. And somehow, I pictured a snowman inside the fence. 

So I began with the traditional 3-ball structure. Next I added a nose, which ended up big and round. That led to big ears. Then the head needed to be pointy and the body shaped more like a man's. 

By this time I knew I was building an "Earthman" from C.S. Lewis' book The Silver Chair from the Chronicles of Narnia. He needed a sad expression as he grips the fences in his hands. Not that the Earthmen were imprisoned by visible fences or bars. But they were imprisoned by the invisible power of the evil ruler of Underworld.

                      

After finishing this creature, I strolled down the driveway and thought about all the people around me who live like Earthmen. 

They are sad and hopeless -- prisoners of a darkness they can feel but can't understand. They have no knowledge of the true nature of things: that they were created for a joyful life in a beautiful land ruled by their loving Creator. The fact is hidden from them that this dark world in which they find themselves is not their real home. 

They are slaves to the will of the evil ruler of this land and have no way in themselves to break free. They need to know the amazing truth that One came to break the spell and set us free! 

Why are you cast down, O my soul, 

and why are you in turmoil within me? 

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, 

my salvation and my God. 

Psalm 42:11

The people walking in darkness

    have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

    a light has dawned.
Isaiah 9:2

"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: 

While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." 

Romans 5:8

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, 

“I am the light of the world. 

Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, 

but will have the light of life.”

John 8:12

...to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, 

and from the power of Satan to God, 

so that they may receive forgiveness of sins 

and a place among those who are sanctified 

by faith in me [Jesus].’ 

Acts 26:18

Invisible Hope

Some thoughts from my friend, "V": 

As I thought about revival this week, I have been feeling a need for a revival of hope. It is interesting to me that Romans 8:24 sounds like a rhetorical question (who hopes for what he already sees?). Like it should be obvious that we only hope for what we do not see. All too often, visible results are so highly valued among us that we forget that real hope should not be placed in the here and now. All too often, the visible things are fake. 

People often come to me looking for hope in this world. They want something structured to attach themselves to, something that will promise security. I have had to learn to tell the truth: there is no hope in this world. But this world is not all that there is, and that gives us a reason to hope. Real hope is outside of this world, and that hope cannot be shaken.

And from "The Seaboard Parish" by George MacDonald:

"I am thankful for the hope," I answered [the doctor]. "You need not be afraid of my turning upon you, should the hope never pass into sight. I should do so only if I found that you had been treating me irrationally—inspiring me with hope which you knew to be false. The element of uncertainty is essential to hope, and for all true hope... man has to be unspeakably thankful."

May the God of HOPE

fill you with all joy and peace

as you trust in Him,

so that you may overflow with hope

by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 15:13

Fun with Cold

When it gets so cold that ice drips its fangs under the door to eat your wood floor and catch the front rug when you try to open it...

... find a way to enjoy ice!

Our Elsa couldn't quite sing, "The cold never bothered me anyway!" Her teeth were chattering too much! 

Winter Blossoms

Several colours of amaryllis have been brightening our winter months - since December. Here is one that matched the sunset sky.

A Gift of "Coffee"

I wonder how often a taste for coffee skips a generation as it did in both of my parent's families. All four of my grandparents enjoyed coffee, though they were just as happy with tea when at our house. Mom and Dad never drank coffee - except one time when they were visiting the home of refugees from Bosnia. That brew was so strong, "The spoon stood up in it!"

 Despite the lack of exposure, Elsa and I somehow ended up learning to enjoy coffee in our twenties. If a good quality flavor, we drank it black. (Sorry... not church coffee!) We also enjoyed various styles of coffee beverages: with milk, mochas, lattes, iced-blended, and the amazing Vietnamese iced coffee that my foster-brother taught us to make. (That last version is so amazing and potent that Grandma thought she had been healed from her intense chronic pain for a while after her first taste!)

As our adrenals suffered under years of chronic illness, Elsa and I could no longer drink our occasional coffee. And dairy is out of the question now. So, we drink a lot of tea. It is amazing the variety to be enjoyed among herbal teas. There is something special about growing, picking, and drying your own teas.

And yet, there is still nothing quite so rich and smooth as a good mug of coffee. I have tasted it a couple times in the past four years, but that is always "Drink At Your Own Risk." 

Maybe now you can imagine our joy at finding a cold coffee drink replacement, minus the coffee, and with only ingredients that (amazingly) fit in our strict diets! Since Elsa's AIP diet excludes cocoa, she enjoyed the Matcha Latte, and I stretched the bliss of my Maca Mocha across a whole afternoon. 

     

These treats were from a grocery store four hours away from home, so we have only had them that once. But just seeing the photos again makes me feel blessed. Truly! Even those little, unnecessary drinks are a gift from our loving Heavenly Father.